Cassette 0: Karikari Contemporary (1969)/Transcript
This is the official transcript for the prequel episode and is available for patrons of $10+ only at'' patreon.com/withinthewires'' ROIMATA: Welcome to the Karikari Contemporary Gallery. I am the gallery founder & curator Roimata Mangakahia. This audio guide will walk you through our premiere exhibit "Benefits of Doubt: The Conspiratorial Populism of Claudia Atieno." With the opening of the Karikari Gallery, I intend to showcase works that provoke and challenge our understanding of our new, global Society. In just half a century, our entire world has changed beyond recognition. Our national borders have fallen. Our presidents, monarchs, and despots have stepped aside or been removed for the good of a global Societal Council. And traditional, nuclear families have been dissolved for greater and more peaceful development of our youth. Our world had grown so incredibly old, fallen so irreversibly ill, and with the Great Reckoning, humanity faced its death, accepted it, and was reborn. Our world is once again in its infancy, and it is learning to speak again. We can see that in post-Reckoning art. Claudia Atieno stands at the forefront of visual artists, with work that re-contextualizes the art of the old world and articulates mundanity as profundity. The works you will see here were from the private collection of artist Aimee Layeni (pronunciation AH-may Lah-YEN-ee). They are on loan from the Oceanic Government, who took ownership of the paintings after Layeni passed away last year at her home in Brisbane. Layeni was an artistic contemporary, and longtime friend, of Atieno. Thanks also to a Technology Grant from the Oceanic Arts Endowment, we have been able to provide our visitors with these portable cassette players. The paintings begin on the north wall, and consecutively numbered works will continue clockwise around the room. After each description, you will hear a tone. Press the pause button on your cassette player. Press that button again when you come to the next numbered painting. If you have any difficulties operating this cutting edge technology, please see the attendant at the front desk. It’s likely the attendant at the desk will be me. This is a new gallery after all, it may be some time before we have the luxury of additional staff. Thank you for visiting the Karikari Contemporary Gallery. Your audio walkthrough will begin after the tone. #TONE# Painting 1: "The Long Corridor" Look at the colors first. Notice in the charcoal tones of the wall, there are thin threads of lavender and peach. Her pastels ostensibly give a sense of natural evening light reflecting faintly along an unlit corridor. Lean in. Closely. Don't touch, obviously - I realise the texture of the work can be enticing, but these are not my paintings, and the application of many fingers can be detrimental to art. I do not mind if you lean in. On closer glance, those narrow lines of colour appear not to be lighting texture at all but physical tears in the walls. These are not lights caused by reflection. These are lights coming from inside the structure, beginning to tear through the walls. From nose-length away, you can see a vibrating tension in this long boxy room. Do you see this? Look closely. What does a corridor have to hide? Or rather, what does the light have to share? What do you have to hide? Remember these questions. Whisper them to someone you trust. #TONE# Painting 2: "Child and Damselfly" Look in the background first? See the lake. What does a lake symbolize? Does it have to? The lake is possibly Lake Victoria in Eastern Africa, near where Atieno was born. I do not know this for certain - I simply read a profile of Atieno in the Herald that mentioned she grew up along this lake. From the photos I have seen of the region, the topography and plant-life - the rocky outcroppings, short evergreens, and giant sedge, I think it is not unlikely that this is Lake Victoria depicted here. It is all presumption on my part, but I think this is a self portrait. Others disagree with me, since the painting is titled child, not "the artist as a child," but the girl in the foreground looks like Atieno, with her long, dark braids and narrow shoulders. Look at the damselfly between her fingers. The young Atieno, or unnamed child holds the insect firmly and with great interest. See how she leans her head forward, her lips pursed, eyes tightened around an impending thought. Like Atieno, the child looks critically at its subject. She loves it for what it is, but also wants to know more about it. Look at the way she holds the creature. Have you ever been held like this? Imagine what it would be like, to be held like this. To be seen like this. Some have claimed that Atieno’s work is subtly critical of the Society, although since all art is subjective, that is difficult to prove. She was born before the end of the Great Reckoning, before the Age-10 rule was implemented. She was of the last generation allowed to remember her parents, as there were no programs in place until the 1940s that could effectively allow children the emotional liberation from their families. In "Child and Damselfly," I want you to look carefully along the right hand side. There are two dark lines in the brush. Those are shadows. Just out of sight of you, the painting viewer, are two humans, likely her parents. I do not know their names, because it is improper for those of the Final Generation to mention their parent's names. #TONE# Painting 3: "New York, Before the Flood" By the late 1940s, much of the east coast of the former United States was lost to earthquakes and rising oceans. Only some of New York City has been restored. Using a series of dams developed for the preservation of the Netherlands, Belgium, and Denmark, engineers in New York were able to salvage small parts of the once-thriving metropolis. Since the 1960s, the island of Harlem has re-emerged as a vibrant cultural and business center in North America. In this painting, we see Atieno's early childhood memories of a trip to New York with its crowded soaring skyline, a rich field of concrete and commerce. Notice the lights in the center of the city, most likely where Times Square used to be, the former theatrical capital of America. Can you imagine an entire city district devoted to theatre? What types of theater do you like? What memories do you have that no longer exist? #TONE# Painting 4: "Sunglasses and Cigarettes" These two human figures have appeared in a few of Atieno's works, but mostly in the background. I have seen many of Atieno's exhibits here in Aotearoa, but also in London, Sydney, and Rabat. I can think of 3 other paintings where these two figures appear in the background. Notice the way the two hold their cigarettes, their arms pointing down, stiffly, at their sides. Their glasses dipped low, toward the bottoms of their noses, like the lenses are melting off their frames. And next to them, the most unpleasant looking dog. Look at the dog's face. See its asymmetry, how its nose almost doesn't line up with its snout. Its lower jaw juts out to the left and far past its upper teeth. Do you think this is a handsome dog dreadfully painted, or a dreadful dog handsomely painted? How will it be remembered? How will you be remembered? I do not know the significance of these two ominous figures. I have talked to friends who believe they belong to a fringe faction of the Society. And knowing Atieno's supposed critiques of the new politics, perhaps she is simply furthering this unlikely conspiracy of frightening apparitions, of covert agents or spies. #TONE# Painting 5: "Cornwall Market" This work bears many similarities to her more well-known piece "Marketplace, Summer afternoon 1965.” But I prefer the sense of impending movement in this painting. The tightly held tension. Look at the crowd, sparse and starving, each one leaning far across the tables of fruit vendors, uncomfortably so. Local markets are community-building - not to mention community-feeding - events. They are a coming together of small towns, but in a Society where travel is mandatory, and where many cities are in a fluctuating state of reconstruction, few people choose to live in one town for more than a few years. In “Cornwall Market,” we see a dazed collection of poorly dressed survivors of the Reckoning. None of them are stealing, but none are paying either. Look closely at the eyes of each vendor. Are they afraid, or attentive, or both? There is no real violence in this painting, but there is a dream of violence. See the woman in the upper right. Her dress is torn, but it is elegant. Look to the woman with the orange hair in the middle right. She has a splendid figure, not just in her physique, but also the confident way she stands. But her eyes are dead. Just two tiny black dots, which mar her external beauty with an internal horror. What has she seen to cause her such facial distress? What have you seen that has caused you facial distress? Don't think about that now. Think about the fruit. Look at all the fruit in this painting. That kiwifruit cart there. Those apples. Find the avocados. Why is no one touching the fruit? What kind of market is this? According to the Herald, Atieno has a home in Cornwall. I will be visiting London next year to work on an exhibit of Atieno's work at the Tate Modern, and I am hoping to meet with her. She has been a huge inspiration to me as an artist. There is so much technique to learn, skills I could never hope to emulate. But I look at the impossibility of "Cornwall Market," and I want to see it with my own eyes, standing next to her. I want to make her vision my own, to draw with her hands. Look in the the tiny specks of eyes belonging to the woman with the orange hair again. Now think of a time when you wanted something but did not know how to achieve it. Think of a person you looked up to but did not know how to say it. "I look up to you," seems the most direct way, you think as you stare into these two tiny black pinpoints, but by saying that, you weigh your new relationship with uneven scales. "Hello," is another thing you can say as you wonder why the woman with the orange hair does not touch the fruit, but while cordial, "hello" is forgettable and meaningless. What would I say to Claudia Atieno. "I am an artist. May I talk about art with you?" Those long orange curls and splendid figure. Those disturbingly small eyes above her wide red lips. "Why is she not touching the fruit? Why is no one touching the fruit?" Maybe that's what I would ask Claudia Atieno. #TONE# Thank you for visiting the Karikari Contemporary Gallery. If you would like to make a donation, or join our mailing list, please stop by the front desk and say "Hello." I will neither forget nor avoid you. Category:Transcripts